I drag myself out of bed and head for the en suite bathroom, marble everywhere, a shower with six different heads, a tub that could fit three people. There are bottles lined up on the counter, all expensive brands I've only seen in magazines.
The shower is heaven. I'll give Dante that much.
When I step out five minutes later, wrapped in a towel that's softer than anything I own, I notice something on the bed that wasn't there before.
Clothes. A whole pile of them.
I freeze.
The door is still closed. Locked, even, from the inside. Which means someone came in while I was in the shower and?—
No. There must be a connecting door I missed. Or Maria has a key.
I approach the pile slowly, like it might bite.
On top is a note in neat handwriting:
Mr. Vitale thought you might need options for today.
Maria
I lift the first item.
It's a nightgown. If you can call it that. Black silk, barely there, with lace that's completely see-through. The kind of thing you wear when you want someone to take it off immediately.
"You've got to be kidding me," I mutter, tossing it aside.
The next item is worse. A red lace bralette with matching underwear that's basically just string. Then a dress that's so short it might as well be a long shirt. Another nightgown in white that's somehow even more revealing than the black one. Jeans that look like they were painted on. Tops with necklines that plunge to my navel.
I keep digging, increasingly frantic, looking for something—anything—that doesn't scream "there’s nothing left to the imagination.”
At the very bottom, I find one of my own shirts. A simple cream blouse I've had for three years. And my work pants.
Everything else is gone.
"That bastard," I say to the empty room.
I yank on my blouse and pants, not caring that they're wrinkled. Then I storm out of the room, down the hallway, toward what I'm pretty sure is Dante's office based on the tour yesterday.
The door is closed. I don't knock.
Empty.
I check his bedroom. Also empty, though the bed is made with military precision.
"Maria!" I call out, heading toward the main staircase.
She appears from the kitchen hallway, looking concerned. "Miss Mancini? Is everything all right?"
"Where is he?"
"Mr. Vitale left early this morning. He had business to attend to."
"Of course he did." I cross my arms. "And the clothes? The lingerie explosion in my room?"
Maria's expression becomes carefully neutral. "Mr. Vitale arranged for a selection to be delivered. He thought you might need?—"
"Thought I might need to dress like I'm auditioning for a porno?" I can see her embarrassed blush and I start to feel bad for pouring all my anger out when she’s around.
